


Destroy Me More

by sagewillow



Category: SHINee
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Blackmail, Blood, Blood and Injury, Explicit Sexual Content, Gang Rape, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Ransom, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Ending, Sexual Abuse, Surgery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagewillow/pseuds/sagewillow
Summary: Following a performance at an awards show, Taemin is involved in a car accident that quickly turns into a kidnapping. Will Taemin be able to hold it together while he's beaten and abused, with a high ransom on his life proposed to Lee Sooman?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. The Taking

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> Please read the tags before reading at your own risk. This is a fictional work - _none_ of the events depicted in this work are real, or based on truth.

Stepping off the stage, Taemin drew a breath of relief when a cold cloth was pressed to his sweaty forehead. The performance had gone smoothly. He hadn't made any mistakes, and he knew music award shows were a big deal. Scrutiny usually came from fans of other idols, upset that their own favoured idols hadn't won awards - so they found a way to put down other artists to make themselves feel better. He hadn't taken home any awards himself that day, but he didn't mind. Getting air time to perform his new choreography was all the exposure he could ask for.

He wasn't ushered into a changing room, but directed straight to the back of the building where his van was waiting to safely transport him back to his hotel room. Maybe it was because it was getting late and he had a schedule in the morning, or maybe the whole ordeal to follow was planned, but he didn't know at the time. Two members of security shuffled in beside him, which Taemin thought was a waste of staff, and they set off. He was just happy to rest his exhausted bones on the comfortable leather seat, resting his head on a bundled-up jacket against the window. He daydreamed about getting home and having a nice hot bath to sooth his muscles, maybe a cup of tea before bed to help him sleep easier. He didn't have long to enjoy the moment of peace.

Taemin's body was thrown forward as the van's breaks screeched, but the driver didn't brake in time. A car had run through a red light, swerving through traffic to target the black van, but the young singer couldn't catch a glimpse of it before it slammed into the side of the van, crushing the passenger door in like a metal can. Taemin let out a startled scream, his mind racing at the thought that he had almost chosen to sit on that side. The van pulled to a grinding halt. His ears were ringing, and his neck hurt - _Is this what whiplash feels like?_

His ears were still ringing when shots were fired. He could barely hear them, but he definitely noticed when the security guards next to him slumped over, blood pouring from their temples. Taemin didn't have time to process what was happening, in fact he was in shock, and no words came to him when he was dragged from the car by two men that he didn't recognise. He thought they might have been security, maybe of another idol that was being transported in the same area, so he didn't protest straight away. His eyes were locked on the puddle of blood forming on the seat he was just in as the door slammed in front of his face, and a third car that he was now in screeched down the road in the opposite direction that they were going. He finally released a sob from his throat as he scanned the vehicle, frantically searching for something familiar, someone he knew. He heard hushed murmurs between the men that had taken him, and they all seemed to have a smirk on their faces. If he hadn't have realised he was being kidnapped by their smirk expressions after a tragedy had just occurred, he definitely noticed when his wrists were bound. His manager had trained him for a hostage situation, but all of that training from so many years ago seemed to leave his mind immediately as he thrashed around, kicking one of his captors square in the jaw in the process. He couldn't hear the words coming from his own mouth because his ears were still ringing. 

A hand roughly grabbed his hair, making him yelp, as he was dragged onto someone's lap. He looked up through teary eyes, disgusted at the sight before him. The man was maybe in his thirties, rough patchy stubble on his face, sweat dripping from his brow in beads. His eyes looked crazy, almost bloodshot, his army-style haircut not flattering his meaty head. The hand in his hair tightened as he spoke, "You do that one more time, I'll _fucking cut your fingers off._ "

Taemin whimpered as his head was slammed onto the floor of the van, a booted-foot grinding into the small of his back to keep him in place. There was another man in the back with them, who apparently didn't have much to say apart from the occasional sneer or laugh. Taemin could smell the stink of cigarettes, probably from the driver. The fear leaving his body was replaced by anger, and before he could stop and think, he forced himself to roll over, digging his teeth into the second man's ankle as hard as he could. He heard a rough scream, before he roughly ripped his ankle away, and Taemin was satisfied to see that he had drawn blood. His satisfaction was short lived.

He was hauled up, his head slapped against the passenger door with his back against the seat, the first man now on top if him with fistfuls of his white dress shirt. "You think you're fucking funny?" The man spat, Taemin cringing away, "I'll put that mouth to good use, bitch."

No sooner was he hauled back onto the floor in a kneeling position, his nose pressing uncomfortably against his captor's jeans. The van swerved, making Taemin feel sick. He gritted his teeth, staring up at the disgusting, thick-necked man. There was still anger running through him, but the fear was outweighing it in that moment.

"You use your teeth on me, I'll pull them out _one by one_. Boss said to keep you alive, he didn't mention anything about keeping you in one piece."

The young singer didn't know what to say. Any retort he had was caught in his throat as the man unzipped his fly, and his still-soft member was roughly shoved into Taemin's mouth, making him gag almost immediately. His meaty hand found it's way back to Taemin's soft hair, holding the younger man in place. His nose was pressed against the man's sweaty pubes, he closed his eyes to stop tears from spilling out. It took all of his willpower not to bite down, but he knew the repercussions. His jaw hurt, he didn't move his tongue, didn't suck. It wasn't like he'd never given a blowjob before, but he had absolutely no desire to make this pleasurable for his captor towering above him. But he got impatient, Taemin felt the man's other hand on his jawbone guiding him backwards and forwards, the flaccid cock in his mouth rapidly growing fatter, nudging at the back of his throat. 

Taemin felt shuffling from behind him as the second man joined them, sitting next to the first. "Let me get in on this, Lee."

'Lee' grunted, his fat fingers untangling from Taemin's hair. "You take his mouth then, he's shit at this. Can't even get an old man hard. I'll take the other end."

Taemin's eyes widened. He had been playing along for just long enough to conjure up a plan, but he had to leave, _now._ He panicked, throwing himself at the passenger door and pulling the handle, relief surging through him when he found it was unlocked and yanked the door open. He heard shouts behind him, but didn't stop to think as he threw himself out of the moving car, feeling the skin on his palms rip as he rolled out onto the concrete curb, gravel digging into his skin. He heard the screech of tires, and the van stopped just a few meters away from him. He didn't have time. He hauled himself up with wrists still bound, his head throbbing, tears streaking his face.

"Help!"

He shouted out into the night, thankful that he had stumbled out of the car into an area where bars and restaurants lined the side of the street. He saw a few heads whip up and turn to him, wondering what was happening. He forced himself to run in the opposite direction of the van. "Help, I'm being kidnapped! _Help!_ "

He almost made it to the nearest building when he was tackled from behind. He wasn't surprised that they could outrun him, after whatever injuries he had sustained from jumping from a moving vehicle. He just hoped someone was calling the police, was taking photos or videos, was writing down the registration of the van that he was dragged back to and thrown into. His head connected with something, a loud crack ringing through Taemin's ears. His head felt hot, his vision blurry. 

_Maybe I will die here,_ Taemin thought as his fragile body was man-handled between the men for the remainder of the drive, he couldn't tell how long it had been. By the time they had reached their destination, he had fainted long ago at the agonising pain between his legs.


	2. The Ransom

The television screen flickered, images peeking through behind lines of static. It was hard to make out what the image was exactly - the room on the screen was so dark, everything looked grey. The image became clearer after a few seconds - it was clear that someone was tied to a chair, their hands behind their back, face down. All he was wearing was a white button-down dress shirt, looking wrinkled and crumpled, discoloured from blood, sweat and dirt. The shirt covered most of his body, but his legs were visibly shaking. The room he was in had concrete walls, a concrete floor. There were parts of crumbling concrete posts scattered randomly across the room, hard edges of rusting iron posts, random rusted wire and shrapnel everywhere. It looked like it might have been a warehouse, or a factory, possibly even a large basement. The ceilings were high, not visible in the frame of the television. 

Basically, it was the worst-case scenario, Minho thought. They'd heard no word from Taemin the previous night, but that wasn't unusual - the youngest liked to take care of himself, maybe to prove a point, maybe because he was an introvert. Since he had moved out of the dorm and started his own solo career beside SHINee promotions, he'd had an air of confidence around him. It was an admirable quality, but Minho knew there was still a part inside him that needed looking after, as a maknae always stays well looked after. It was unusual however that he hadn't shown up for their early morning workout, and only then did Minho go to the SM building for help. He wasn't even aware that there had been a car crash last night, and that Taemin had been missing since then... _How could they not have told us?_

That's when they found themselves in a conference room - Kibum, Onew, Minho and Jonghyun, along with several other staff members, several police officers, their manager, and the CEO himself. Apparently someone had delivered a package that morning containing several items of interest to the police, and they all had to be a witness to it. Minho had hoped that it was maybe a note from Taemin or his family, saying he wanted a break or something, but his worst fears came true when a DVD was put into the television, and the image of Taemin tied to a chair flickered onto the screen, sending a jolt of fear through all of them. Jonghyun let out a gasp of panic. He heard the police officers murmuring to themselves. Lee Sooman shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. 

Before Minho could say anything, another man appeared on the screen. He knew the clip was pre-recorded, not live, but Minho found himself wanting to lash out and yell at this man. He had a thick neck, boring facial features. He was ugly, that was the first thought that they all probably had. He was kneeling in front of the camera to get his thick bulky body in frame of the screen, but not enough to block out Taemin behind him. He grinned, as sly as an eel.

"This is a ransom video."

The crowd in the room murmured, but Minho and his members stayed silent. _This really is the worst-case scenario._

"I request $10 Million US dollars for the safe return of Lee Taemin of SM entertainment. The amount will be in cash. It will be delivered to an address of my choosing, at 11pm tonight, exactly one day from the time we took him. If you take any longer than that, he will be sold to our friends involved in the Japanese Mafia, and you will never see him again."

Minho heard Kibum suck in a breath. $10 Million USD was a lot of money, but how could you value the life of another? Was Taemin worth more than that? He hoped Sooman would think so, he knew he had the money, though it would hurt his pockets. He looked over at the older man, who was looking down at his hands, his brows creased in thought.

The slimy man continued, "And if you think this is an empty threat, you need to be aware that I mean business. This isn't the first time that I've done this, and I've followed through with my threats before." His eyes looked crazy, blood-shot. "I have blood on my hands, and I have no problem with adding more."

The man got up from his knees, disappearing from view for a moment. He came back with something long - it was hard to tell what it was because of the camera quality, but it could have been a whip, a belt, or a simple piece of leather. He held Taemin's head up, his hand under Taemin's slim jaw. It was the first time they had seen his face, confirming the weight of the situation, that this was actually happening. He was a mess, tear tracks lining his dirty cheeks, blood at the corner of his lips. His eyes were full of fresh tears, and Minho imagined what he was feeling at the time - this meaty hand holding his face in place, forcing him to stare at a camera, alone in the cold concrete room. Minho could almost feel the burn of the rope around his wrists behind his back. When he saw Taemin let out a sob, he almost sobbed too. 

Suddenly his head was dropped, and the man took a step back, raising his arm. The video stalled a little, and the sound of the _crack_ followed by a shrill shout of pain were heard before the image followed. Minho closed his eyes before he could see it. He didn't want to see the fresh tears fall, the angry red lines appearing on the young man's soft pale skin, he didn't want to see Taemin struggle to get away. When he heard the second crack of leather on skin, he heard Kibum dry-heave, stumbling out of his chair and slamming the door behind him. He knew Jonghyun was crying, not trying to hide the hiccups coming from his throat. Onew was silent beside him, but when Minho shot a look at him, he saw that his eyes were closed too with his own fingers in his ears. He knew they were meant to be witnesses, but this was too much to ask. Minho was furious. He stood up, chair screeching behind him. "Turn it off, for god's sakes!"

Someone complied, and the screen went black. The head of police didn't look happy, but Minho didn't care. If he couldn't protect Taemin in this moment, the least he could do was look after the rest of his members. He took a seat, knowing there wasn't much else to do in the situation. An uncomfortable silence passed over all of them, until surprisingly, Jonghyun spoke.

"We'll pay."

Minho started at him, not sure what he was implying.

Jonghyun looked away from everyone's glances. "If the company won't do it, us members will put all of our money together and pay it. I'll sell my car, I'll ask my Mom for money, I'll do anything-"

He was interrupted by Sooman, who had been silent until that moment, "I never said I wouldn't do it."

The chief of police cleared his throat. "With all due respect, you may not have to pay at all. If we find a way to trace where he is, we can storm him with our officers and 'rescue' him, so to speak."

Minho shook his head. "I've seen enough movies to know that it doesn't work like that. You have no idea what kind of set-up he has, how many men are in that group, if they have weapons-"

"This isn't a movie, _boy._ " 

"That's enough!" Their manager shouted over the conflicting voices, "before we find a resolution, there's more in the package that might convince us towards a decision."

The package, wrapped in brown paper, had been brought in early in the morning by a kid no older than twenty. He seemed to have no idea what was going on - he couldn't describe who had given him the package, what it was about, even describe who he was or where he was from. He was in police custody, but it wasn't a hopeful lead. The package had been searched for prints, but there was no indication of where it had come from and by who it was sent. 

The rest of the contents were dumped out on the table of the conference room once Kibum had been called back in, his face paler than before. There were simply four letters, in white envelopes, with messily scrawled characters on them. The names of the members.

They argued over whether or not the police should be opening them instead of the members, to which Minho brought up the point of mail fraud. They had agreed that all four would be opening their own letters, though wearing gloves. Though Minho wished he hadn't have argued his case once he saw the contents inside. A small piece of thick paper, which turned out to be a polaroid once he flipped it over. Taemin's watery eyes stared back up at him, a handful of his hair in the grip of a meaty hand. Minho cringed and flipped the image back over onto the table when he realised what was happening in the photo, but the image of a phallic-looking object being jammed into Taemin's mouth was burned into his eyelids when he closed his eyes. 

He knew the others were similar, when Onew slammed his polaroid upside-down on the table as well, his hand balled into a fist, shaking. Minho looked back down at his envelope, only one other item inside. It looked like balled-up plastic wrap, which Minho made quick work of unfolding. Sat inside was a small clump of soft brown hair. Minho gasped, almost dropping it. He hurriedly placed it on the table, thankful when the evidence was taken away by police. He turned away from the table in his seat, bent over and put his face in his hands. He didn't let himself cry, or feel sorry for himself. He just sat there, not wanting to come back and face the reality of the situation. He heard the slam of the door, knowing Kibum had left the room again, probably to not come back this time.

He didn't look up when Sooman cleaned his throat again. "I'm convinced enough. Let's not mess around, we only have half a day left. Take me to the bank."


	3. The Turn-Over

Everything was a blur.

Sometimes he couldn't feel the cold concrete beneath his skin, and he felt like he was up in the air. Sometimes he couldn't tell if he was facing up or down, if his clothes were on or off, which part of his body was hurting. 

Taemin groaned, his head rolling to the side lifelessly when one man pulled out of him, quickly replaced by another. He was thankful that he had gone numb between his legs, but knew the pain would return to him later. He gritted his teeth as the faceless man dug his nails into the soft flesh of Taemin's thighs. He had given up thrashing, screaming, trying to get away from them. He was sleep deprived, even before he was taken, and he knew there was no way he could get away. Things would work out better if he just _stayed still and shut up_ , as he was told. 

His muscles throbbed from being forced into different positions, and without his permission his legs collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling on the floor. He heard a noise of frustration from above him. "The little whore can't handle it? Fine, we'll take a break. Roll onto your back."

When Taemin didn't comply straight away, his mind swimming trying to piece together what the man had just said, he felt a yank on his hair and cried out as he was pulled over onto his back. He was sure his head was bleeding after how much his hair had been yanked that night. He instinctively squeezed his legs together, his hands coming up to protect his own chest. His eyes were closed, so he didn't see when one of the half-dozen men pulled out a flip knife and knelt in front of Taemin's helpless form, lowering it down to his stomach. 

_I'm going to be gutted like a fish,_ he thought when his arms and legs were restrained, and he felt the cold slice of the knife before he felt the searing pain. The cut was only an inch long, but it was deep enough for fresh blood to bubble to the surface in a matter of seconds. Before he had time to make another noise, he was adding to the cuts haphazardly. Taemin cried out, tensing his muscles until he was shaking, knowing that if he thrashed around the cuts would only go deeper. His breaths came out in short rasps, and he felt blood rushing to his head, dizziness overcoming him. He strained his head, trying to see what the man was doing, but his head was pushed back down, the back of his head connecting with the hard concrete.

When the dizziness had almost completely replaced the pain that he felt on his lower stomach, where his lean torso connected with the thin trail of hair above his crotch, he lifted his head again. It was a mess, blood dribbled down his body in beads. He looked like a skinned animal. A dirty hand wiped some of the blood off, making Taemin cringe at the thought of infection. It was only then that he got a good look at what the man had carved into his skin. 

性工作者.

Taemin didn't know much Mandarin, but he had an idea of what it meant. 

He didn't have the energy to do anything else. He let the blood run down his hips, down the soft curves of his thighs. His eyes glazed over as he felt another man enter him, setting a ruthless pace, abusing his bruised insides. The man held his arms above his head, but Taemin wasn't fighting back. The ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but he didn't let it show. He hoped that whoever had received the ransom video, whether it be his agency or family, or the members - he hoped they would give these men hell.

\------------------------------------

The night was still. The trees in this province didn't sway, there were no traffic noises, no cars on the road. The old office building had been deserted years ago, maybe during a particularly bad economic year. Some of the windows were even smashed, graffiti lining the brick walls on the sides. Lee Sooman didn't waste time - he walked with confidence to the small courtyard in the front, briefcase in hand. The garden had long escaped the confines of their pots; he stepped over a creeping vine of ivy as he stopped in front of the tower building, eyes flicking over the windows, looking for movement.

He shook his head, kneeling down to place the briefcase on the ground. He knew there were red dots on him, small flickers of light trained on his body, coming from the lasers on sniper rifles that were probably in every window of the building. Minho was right, he thought, they didn't know how many men would be on the opposite side. He unclicked the latches and opened it just enough to peek inside, to make sure everything was still there, before he clicked it shut again and paced back to the road where lines of armed police were waiting. The military officers in the front were trained for hostage situations, armed with assault weapons and wearing thick Kevlar to protect themselves. Their weapons were already aimed at every widow, every door, every corner. The local chief of police was there, with a few police officers around him, their handguns at their hips. 

Minho, Kibum, Onew and Jonghyun were safely watching from a monitor at the local police station, the camera focused on the building. as much as they wished they were on scene, they knew it wasn't an option.

Minutes passed, and nothing happened. Sooman rubbed his hands together, fighting off the cold, now on the road surrounded by armed officers. He felt no safer though. Then without warning, the front glass door of the building swung open. He heard the safety of the guns click, followed by murmurs between officers when a figure appeared at the entrance of the door, his arms bound in front of him with crudely-ripped material. He was pushed from behind, and he stumbled forward a step before falling to his knees, hissing as he connected with the concrete beneath him. It was Taemin.

_They're getting him to collect the briefcase?_

It was a smart move - anyone else would have been at risk of being shot. He didn't want to think about what the other boys would be seeing through the monitor in the station at that moment. Taemin wasn't in good condition. The remains of a white dress shirt was all he was wearing, brushing at the top of his thighs, covered in grime and blood. The blood was concentrated in a large stain around his stomach, and Sooman wondered about the extent of his injuries as he gritted his teeth. He thought about the promise of bringing him home _safely_. 

The same red sniper dots that were on him before were now trained on Taemin's shaking, kneeling figure. Sooman let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding as Taemin stood. He steadied himself, making small steps towards the briefcase in the courtyard. Sooman couldn't hear the boy sobbing from where he was. He stumbled, legs giving out as he dropped a short distance from the case, crawling the remaining distance. 

_"He has an earpiece in, try to tune in to the wavelength,"_ an officer near him murmured. 

Taemin winced at the ringing in his ear. He clicked the latches back, hands shaking as he lifted the lid of the case and sucked in a breath. He had been told that if the case was empty, if it was some kind of trick, he would be shot immediately. He let himself laugh shakily at the sight before him, neatly laid stacks of money, with the bank seal on them, tucked into the velvet-lined briefcase. He wondered how they had managed, whoever was paying his ransom. He sobbed as he lifted his bound hands to press the button on the earpiece, speaking into the microphone, "It's here, it's all here."

"Get out the torch that I gave you, whore."

Taemin gulped, hands fumbling at his dress shirt pocket that sat just over his heart. He hoped the police by the road didn't think he was reaching for a weapon or something, because he was _so close..._

He drew out the 'black light', as it had been described to him. He reached into the case and pulled one of the notes from it's bundle, clicking the torch on and squinting from it's purple light. Shining the light on the note, he saw the ultraviolet design shine through, the hidden pattern and Korean characters revealed by the light.

Taemin gasped through the earpiece, "I-It's real."

After more hushed instruction, Taemin clicked the case shut again, struggling with his hands still bound. He forced himself to stand up again, briefcase in his grip held to his chest as if hoping to block out any gunfire, and stumbled on bare feet back to the building, not looking at who was waiting on the road. He didn't let himself be hopeful, search for someone who might not be there.

No sooner than he had entered the building, he was being shoved back out after the earpiece was removed and the case was yanked from his grip. He steadied himself against a concrete beam by the entrance door, sucking in a breath as he realised what happened next. He was allowed to go. He was allowed to walk himself to the road, be taken away to a hospital or police station, then to go home. He was allowed to see his members again, see his family again. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stumbled forward again, putting all of his energy into putting one foot in front of the other. He couldn't see who was waiting for him, overwhelmed at the situation, his vision blurred. He just knew that getting to the road, whoever was waiting, he would be safe.

He was shattered from his thoughts when a gruff voice shouted out, "I see him, he's escaping!"

It wasn't a military officer, but the untrained police chief to the side. Before Taemin could say anything, the police officer had drawn his handgun and was firing shots at the windows. It felt like time had slowed down. With wide eyes, Taemin saw the police officer go down, a silent bullet connecting with the side of his head. Whatever police officers to the side that had remained were dealt with quickly too, and chaos broke out. 

_Taemin remembered the conversation that happened just a few hours later. "If anything happens, if any shots are fired, we fucking rain fire upon them. They have their end of the bargain to hold. Shoot the whore too, show them we mean business. As long as we have the money it doesn't matter anyways, we're leaving the country tomorrow."_

Taemin had never been shot before, but it wasn't what he had expected. The force of the bullet going through his shoulder pushed him forward, his still-bound hands coming up to break his fall on the hard ground. He didn't feel the pain straight away, which he guessed was the shock. He felt winded, and he felt the muscles around his shoulder twitch, shudder, tighten. He didn't notice that he had also been shot a little lower down, in his side where his elbow would have usually rested. He felt blood bubble up in the back of his throat, but was thankful for the cold pavement pressed against his flushed face. 

He didn't notice the swarm of military officers around him, surrounding him in a circle, their bullet-proof vests blocking out the police car lights from the road. His chest heaved, and he felt blood running down his chin. 

_I was so close..._

The pain first hit when he was heaved over someone's shoulder, and he felt like he was going to throw up as he shouted out in pain, tears prickling his vision. It was unlike anything he had felt before - it was like a blade pressing into him, twisting and going deeper with every second, only getting worse. When the pain multiplied, he welcomed the darkness and dizziness that took him over, letting his body go limp as he was placed into a car and driven away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 性工作者 - Sex worker / Prostitute


	4. The Repurcussions

The room was white.

It wasn't really a room, with four walls and a door, more like one wall that was behind his head, and the rest was curtains. It wasn't large, it was big enough to fit Taemin's bed, a heartrate monitor and other small machines, and enough room to walk down the sides and the end of the bed. No seats, no sink, no one else in the room.

It must have been a public hospital, Taemin thought, probably the closest hospital they could find. Either that or he was just in an area where he didn't get any special treatment, like a post-op area or critical care or something. It seemed like a temporary room, not long term. When Taemin had first awoken, it still felt as if he was in a dream, somewhere completely different from reality, where he couldn't remember much about what had just happened, and wasn't sure what was going to happen in the future. It was a peace that he hadn't felt in a while.

He didn't press the nurse call button, didn't call out for anyone. He sat back in his hospital bed, pulling the soft linin blanket up his chest, covering the bandages that he didn't want to worry about just yet. He studied the machines next to him, and noticed a cord running from a pole beside him that disappeared underneath his blanket. He didn't explore it further. He wiggled his toes, stretched his fingers out, rubbed his eyes. These actions were to make sure everything was real, it was really happening, he was inside his own body. There was a deep ache inside him, a throbbing that was almost pain, but not quite. It felt like when he had exercised too hard, and his muscles were stitching back together after the strain. He figured the pain would return once the cord that ran from him was out of his arm.

Sooner than he had hoped, the curtains were being pulled back and he was surrounded by figures, too many figures than he was comfortable with. Nurses were touching him, touching his pillows, messing with his blankets. Doctors were fiddling with the machines, yanking at the IV needle in his arm but not pulling it out. There were others, police maybe, or maybe investigators, standing at the end of the bed, talking at him. It sounded like they were talking, but Taemin couldn't quite make out their words. His head felt like it was underwater, but his body felt like it was crawling with ants. He had no strength to do anything else but sit there, tears pooling in his eyes without his permission. 

The pain was there, the throbbing inside him was now a sharp tug, like a blade nestling deeper inside his skin. He couldn't tell where it was, but it felt like it was everywhere. His head, his torso, his arms and legs. He couldn't cry out, couldn't hold his injured chest, all he could do was sit there. Even if he wanted to, his arms wouldn't move. One of the men at the foot of the bed shook his head, his garbled language coming out louder, as if he was frustrated. 

Taemin opened his lips, but nothing came out. His chest squeezed, ached, before all of the memories came rushing back to him in a wave. He remembered it all, every second of what he had endured, right up to the point where he was shot. Twice. _That explains the pain, at least most of it._

It was too much to bear, too many emotions and thoughts running over and over, repeating the worst parts, the details, the feelings as if it were happening again. Taemin felt bile in his throat as his eyes rolled back, his aches fading as he let go and fell into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Kibum couldn't tear his eyes away from the monitor, since the moment he saw Taemin step out of the building for the second time, his hands bound as he stumbled towards the road. He held his breath the entire time, until the worst possible scenario played out in front of him.

He hadn't liked the head of police, how cocky and confident he was that he could handle the situation. He probably wanted the glory of taking down an organised crime ring, Kibum thought as he heard shots fire, not blinking when the police officer hit the ground. He felt Jonghyun's hand squeezing his own to the point that it hurt, and realised why. Taemin was on the ground. He hadn't seen what had happened - he was too busy looking at the police officers off to the side. The screen was fuzzy and pixelated, and on a small security screen with the four of them huddled around it, but he couldn't mistake the red stain appearing slowly on the back of Taemin's white dress shirt, getting larger the longer he was laying there.

In seconds he was surrounded by the military members, being protected by men in Kevlar vests. Kibum jumped from his seat, his eyes wide as he kept his grip on Jonghyun's hand. He heard Onew sobbing beside him. His teeth clenched as he watched Taemin's body get carried away to the road, out of view of the camera. He looked up at the security guard at the entrance of the door, biting out the command "Take us to where he's going."

He was surprised that he could keep it together for so long, dragging a sobbing Jonghyun and a shell-shocked Minho to the van, Onew trailing close behind. It was only once he had gotten into the car and they were on the way to the hospital that his head fell in his hands. He wasn't giving up yet, Taemin could still be okay. He hadn't let in any intrusive thoughts about his condition. Kibum sniffled, wiping his damp eyes on his sleeve, swearing under his breath.

The next hour was a blur, security escorting them into the hospital, leading them to waiting room after waiting room. Police officers spoke to them, management members approached them - Kibum even caught a glance of Sooman, talking to investigators. Kibum refused to speak to anyone until he was allowed to see Taemin, which he was advised would be a while. He wasn't getting any answers, and the questions were building up in his head until he couldn't take it. He felt the familiar sensation of nausea coming over him, overwhelmed with stress and anxiety and the weight of the situation, and barely made it to the bathroom before he was heaving. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he choked, swearing at himself, at his weakness. He shook as he rested his head against the sterile toilet seat. He didn't look up when he felt the stall door open, felt the presence of someone else beside him, rubbing his back in soothing circles as his shoulders shook. He knew it had to be Minho.

"He's in surgery."

Kibum nodded. That was probably why they weren't allowed to see him yet.

Minho continued, "They're removing two bullets from his torso. The rest of the injuries can be fixed without surgery though." 

"And the police general?"

"Dead."

Kibum scoffed. _Good riddance._

He didn't protest when Minho pressed a Styrofoam cup to his lips, swishing the water around his mouth and spitting it into the toilet. He wiped his chin on his sleeve, still damp from when he wiped his tears off.

He got up wordlessly, and let Minho guide him back to a waiting room. He sat in a plastic chair for 6 hours, not moving, not getting up to get coffee or a sandwich or talk to investigators. He didn't pull out his phone, or talk to his other members, he just sat there, putting all of his energy into praying that the surgery would go well.

He was almost nodding off to sleep when a doctor approached him, and the other members around him, letting them know that Taemin had woken up.

_He'll be traumatised. Still in pain, sedatives still run through his blood._

_He's dosed up on morphine, so he won't be himself._

_He's been through a lot in the last 24 hours, our physicians think he'll have some form of trauma, PTSD..._

_He won't be the same man as before..._

Taemin recognised the men in front of him. 

Their names were tugging on the edge of his mind, but he didn't think too hard about it. Feelings and memories were there too, ready to come up from his chest, but the thought of experiencing them scared him too much, so he didn't think about it. Just in case they were bad memories or feelings, like before.

He didn't speak to them, in case they said something bad. Or in case his words made them do something bad. Taemin's hands snaked underneath his blanket, protecting himself as he crossed his legs. He didn't show any emotion on his face, in case the men in front of him were provoked by it. He felt the sensation of a thick hand closing around his neck, but just as quickly chased the thought out of his head. His eyes glazed over, and Taemin was thankful, that he didn't have to look at anyone in great detail in case it triggered a memory.

He knew one of them had approached his bed side, and felt a hand gently touch his upper arm. He couldn't help but violently flinch from it, a tear escaping down his cheek. He didn't see the look of hurt flash across Minho's features as he pulled his hand back, his mouth setting in a line. His hearing was still fuzzy, so he didn't hear the doctor explain to the men that he would have trouble with physical contact in the future, because of the sexual trauma he had sustained. He did hear the word 'sexual' though, clear through the jumble of words, and it made his skin itch. He crossed his legs tighter.

The men left. The doctor left. Taemin let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and blinked the tears back into his eyes. He wouldn't think about it. The past, the future, any of it. Any memory or thought could cause him pain. So he let himself exist, in the curtained room, white surrounding him. Taemin thought of the bible illustrations of Heaven, the warm white light filtering through the clouds, blue sky peeking through them. The LED light above Taemin's bed flickered slightly.

If I never have another memory, or a hope for the future, I'll be safe.

If I never have to think about what happened, relive the feelings, I'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about making this a series, having a recovery story~  
> I know this is dark, but it's hard to recover from something like that. You can't just expect him to wake up and be okay... So maybe if you're interested, I can do a part 2 of the series focused on his recovery! Let me know ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my work! I really appreciate your comments - they encourage me to keep writing, and validate the time and effort put into my works ^^


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